Lakeland Lily (5 page)

As for Selene ... ‘My sweet darling girl’s future is in ruins,’ she railed. ‘Along with the family good name. Can’t you see that, you stupid man?’

Edward sucked on his Havana and remained impassive. ‘I see that you think so.’

‘I was perfectly sure that Philip Linden would offer for Selene at some point during the festivities. Now it will never come about.’

‘I’m sure our clever daughter will find a way around the set-back,’ Edward declared, and Margot only just managed to stifle a scream of frustration. Tantrums rarely worked with her vexingly phlegmatic husband.

‘I shall take to my bed,’ she declared, in the injured tones of a woman who has been driven to the limits of her endurance.

‘As you wish, my dear,’ Edward quietly remarked. ‘Pour me a drop more tea, Selene,’ And reached for a piece of his favourite shortbread. Uttering a silent oath beneath her breath, one which Maggie Read had used often but Margot Clermont-Read had long since forsaken, she sailed from the room with the last scrap of her dignity intact and took out her fury on her pillow.

Lily felt her life was over. Despite the fire in the small grate she felt so cold in every limb she was sure she’d never feel warm again. The noise and bustle of her family floated over her head as if they existed in some other time, some other place, and had nothing to do with her at all.

‘Come on, the lot of you,’ Hannah was saying. ‘Sit up to the table. We must eat.’ She started laying out knives, a modest wedge of cheese and a dish of home-made pickles. ‘Slice that loaf, Liza.’

‘Oh, I’m no good at it. I cut it too thick. Why can’t our Lily do it?’

‘Because I’ve told you to do it.’

The two boys were squabbling over which of them should have the single slice of fat pork left over from the previous day’s supper. Arnie settled the matter by bestowing it upon his own plate.

Seeing that her eldest daughter hadn’t moved, Hannah pressed a
hand on her shoulder. ‘Come and eat, lass. You’ve sat there for nigh on two days, not eating, not sleeping, doing naught but weep. It’ll do you no good.’ But Lily turned her head away, not wanting to listen to the usual family banter, and certainly with no desire to eat. A great pain occupied much of her breast and sealed her throat off as tightly as if it were in a vice. Every part of her felt numb and the effort to move, even to feed herself, was well-nigh impossible. It seemed somehow a betrayal to poor Dick, who would never sit at a table and eat again.

‘I know it seems like the end of the world,’ Hannah murmured. ‘But the pain will pass in time.’

Lily did not for a minute believe this, so remained silent. Hannah sent a mute appeal to Arnie, but he was spearing pickles with his knife and paying no attention to his wife. She tried again. ‘You have to keep up your strength, lass. You’ve hardly eaten a thing since - well, since it happened. Everyone’s been hurt by this terrible accident. I do understand how you feel, love, but life goes on.’

Lily could hear her mother’s words, the sort everyone uttered in such circumstances, and was grateful for her sympathy. But deep inside she knew that she did not understand at all. Nobody could. Hannah hadn’t lost the man she loved, the man she had meant to marry. And then her mother committed the ultimate sin.

‘I’m sure the Clermont-Reads, toffee-nosed though they may be, are every bit as upset as we are,’ she said, in her rough but kindly way. ‘And young Dick was always a bit of a gormless lad, bless him.’

Lily was on her feet in a second. ‘How can you say that? You weren’t even there. You know nothing about it. The Clermont-Reads don’t give a toss about folk like us!’ Tears spurted, hot and fierce. ‘They’ve ruined my life. If Dick was a bit of a madcap, what of it? He was young and good and kind, with all his life before him. And I loved him. We were going to get
married.
’

At which point Arnie lifted his head long enough to take an interest in what was going on. ‘Married? Don’t talk daft, girl. Enough of this. You’re too young for such notions, our Lily. I’ll tell you when you can get wed.’

‘Oh, will you?’ she said, defying her father for the first time in her life and feeling a strange satisfaction at the startled expression that registered in his blue eyes. Then she was shocked to see them narrow and harden.

‘Aye, I will. And I’ll tell you who to, an’ all.’

‘Listen to your father, Lily,’ Hannah soothed. ‘I know you liked young Dick well enough. He were a grand lad. But you’ll find someone else. You’re young and will love again.’

‘Can’t you understand? I don’t
want
anyone else.
I want Dick.
And now he’s
gone.
’

Bursting into tears Lily fled noisily upstairs to the tiny room she shared with her younger sisters, the sound of her father’s voice echoing angrily after her. ‘Come back here this minute, girl. You’ll not speak to your mother in such a way.’

But she did not go back. She paid him no heed at all. Nor did she speak to any of her sisters as later that evening they crept into the room and silently got ready for bed. So far as Lily was concerned, her life was empty, happiness vanquished, and she wished at this moment that she too were dead. What did she have to live for without Dick to love her? She’d never be a dressmaker now, never make her fortune and live in a fine house with a loving husband beside her. Probably never marry at all. Instead she must somehow find the strength to attend his funeral and watch them put his beautiful young body into the cold dark earth. She shuddered, and the pain in her chest expanded, filling her entire being with an anguish which robbed her of the very breath of life, her dreams turned to dust like that which filled the old ash pit.

This thought reminded her of their last sweet love-making session on that very roof, of how he’d laid on top of her, pushing his tongue into her mouth, and a new fear started. What if the rumour were true and such kissing did get you a bairn? What would she do then? The tears spurted afresh, hot, unstoppable and horribly silent.

Emma said, ‘I brought you a cheese and pickle sandwich, our Lily,’ thrusting a much squashed piece of bread in her hand. Two-year-old Kitty dabbed at the tears on her face with a damp flannel and Liza brought her a mug of hot tea from which Lily took two sips then left it to go cold. Only the warmth of her three sisters curled close about her like spoons in a drawer brought her the comfort she craved. And then at last, after two sleepless nights, Lily slept.

The simple interment of young Dick Rawlins took place two days later. Lily stood in the stiff breeze of the churchyard, eyes red but squeezed dry of tears as she watched the bearers carry the plain coffin to its final resting place. The small cemetery was packed with silent women in unrelieved black, turned green from long years of service, and men in hard bowler hats saved specially for this purpose. The rooks cawing in the lattice of branches above almost drowned out the minister’s words, and Lily thought the sob wrung from Dick’s weeping mother at her side as the first clod of earth rattled on to the cheap wood would live with her for the rest of her days.

There was no wake, no funeral cake, not even the money to hire the horse-drawn parish hearse, nor any exchange of chatter and happy memories. Paying the laying-out woman, gravedigger and minister would put Dick’s family into debt for weeks. There was certainly no money to spare for cold meats to feed those who came to grieve with them. Nor was it expected. This tragedy was too keenly felt, the boy too young for anyone to have the heart.

Duty was dispatched as quickly as possible, words of sympathy issued, and then the grieving woman was borne away by her family and friends and everyone hurried back to their own home or workplace, dabbing at their eyes and blowing their noses. For the next few days at least they would exhibit a touch more patience towards their own loved ones.

Lily was the last to leave, lingering by Dick’s grave to drop a wild rose she’d gathered specially on to his coffin. It seemed a pathetic offering in comparison with the enormous glass bowl of waxen lilies and white gardenias which had been sent by the Clermont-Reads. Though hers was offered with love, she told herself, not guilt as theirs undoubtedly was.

As if spirited up by this thought, she found herself joined by a dark figure in greatcoat and tall hat.

‘Miss Thorpe?’

Lily lifted her chin, gaze hostile, and was surprised to see grey eyes filled with sympathy fixed upon her.

‘My card. Should you ever require help or assistance in any small degree, you have only to ask,’ Edward Clermont-Read told her.

Anger kept Lily silent, the scent of the graveyard yews becoming in that moment so overpowering she felt suffocated. How dare he? As if he could atone with money for having killed poor Dick.

When Edward had gone, Lily sank to her knees and, finding the card still in her hand, thrust it into her pocket. For a long time she fixed her burning gaze, unseeing, upon Dick’s grave, determined not to break down, not to give Edward Clermont-Read the satisfaction of witnessing her weakness. At length the choking sensation in her throat eased sufficiently for her to put her thoughts into words.

‘Goodbye, my love. I’ll never forget you, Dick, for as long as I live. I swear it.’

‘I don’t wonder at it. He were a right grand lad.’

The voice made her jump. Lily saw first a pair of patched black boots, from which protruded stick-like legs beneath several layers of indistinguishable clothing. Then the legs bent, and beside her squatted a girl of around her own age. Dark, curly hair hung in straggling rat’s tails about a small pixie-like face, from which a pair of moist dark eyes regarded Lily with candid interest. The end of the small pointed nose was red, as if it had been blown a good deal.

'Who’d have thought we’d lose our lovely Dickie?’

Lily stared at the girl. ‘Your lovely Dickie? I didn’t know Dick had any sisters?’

The girl seemed to think this hilarious. ‘Bless you, I ain’t his sister. Me an’ him was, you know, friends.’ She winked, then seeming to realise what she had said, fresh tears spurted and she let out a great howl of anguish. ‘Oh, lordy.’ And plopping backwards on to the turf by the graveside, the girl brought out a big red handkerchief and buried her face in it. ‘I can’t believe he’s gone,’ sobbed the muffled voice. ‘How will we manage without him?’

Lily felt a bit odd inside. Who was this girl? What did she have to do with Dick?

‘Friends?’ she ventured. ‘What sort of friends?’

The small face emerged screwed up with pain, then the red handkerchief was used to scrub away the remaining drops of tears. ‘Oh, don’t you worry none, Lil’. You don’t mind me calling you that, do you? Only I feel as if I know you already, him doing naught but talk about his darling Lily. I know you loved him. But I loved him too. As a dear friend, you might say. He were right kind to me, even though he telled me over and over that you were his girl. D’you see?’

Lily wasn’t too sure if she did see, or if she were missing some vital piece of information. But the girl had evidently cared for Dick, or Dickie as she affectionately called him, and clearly grieved, as Lily did, over his death. Well, perhaps not quite as she did. The girl had made it plain Lily’s own relationship with Dick was special.

She was right. However would Lily manage without him? Then it was she who was weeping, sobbing and hiccuping as if her heart were broken, for surely it was, and the girl was holding her close against a chest even flatter than Lily’s own. Patting her shoulder as if she were a young child.

‘There, there, don’t take on so. I didn’t mean to upset you, lass. Dick wouldn’t want you making yourself ill, now would he?’ When the red handkerchief had been pressed into further service and the tears were all mopped up, the two girls exchanged tremulous smiles.

‘I’m Rose. Rose Collins.’

‘Hello, Rose. I’m Lily Thorpe. Oh, how silly. You already know that.’ And they grinned at each other.

‘Well, we’ve summat in common, anyroad,’ Rose said. ‘Our mothers must have thought we both looked like flowers.’

‘I’m no pale and peaceful lily.’

‘And I’m no pretty pink rose.’ Rose grinned widely. ‘But then, we both loved that great daft cluck who’s gone to his untimely end. If in different ways of course.’ The huge dark eyes, almost too large for her small pointed face, narrowed into slits of anger. ‘I don’t know about you, love, but I’d like to see someone swing for what happened.’

‘Me too,’ Lily admitted, realising on the instant it was true. ‘Steaming along in their great yacht without a care for other folk.’

‘Aye. Bloomin’ toffs,’ Rose said with feeling. ‘Think they own the lake, they do.’

Arms about each other, the two girls began to walk down St Margaret’s steps and along the shingle to the old boathouses, sharing the damp handkerchief from time to time. Swept along by the emotion of the day Lily opened up her heart to this sympathetic stranger.

‘Dick was the love of my life.’

‘Aye, I know.’

‘We were going to be married. Happen sooner than we planned, what with me mebbe carrying his bairn.’

Rose stopped in her tracks. ‘Nay. Ee, you poor lass. Dickie told me how you was to wed, but he never said aught about that.’

‘He didn’t even know.’

Intrigued, Rose linked arms with Lily. ‘Tell me all about it? Happen I can help. You never know.’